“Good morning, Cassandra,” he said, his voice obnoxiously cheerful, as he wiped his full-sleeved shirt over his wet brow. “Or rather I should say good afternoon.”
She gazed at him, not speaking.
“The gown becomes you,” he continued easily, his gaze sweeping over her stiff figure. “I trust everything else that I purchased for you fits as well.”
She thought of the silk underclothes that caressed her and took a step backward, her hand moving unconsciously to cover the expanse of her white bosom.
The earl, seemingly blind to her discomfort, walked to the table, poured himself a glass of water, and tossed it down. “Scargill will be here momentarily with our lunch. Forgive him for not bringing you breakfast, but he has been mightily occupied. Channel storms can be dangerous, you know, else I would have never left the warmth of our bed.” He pictured her as she looked in sleep, her face peaceful and her golden hair fanned over her shoulders and breasts. When he had reluctantly eased away from her early in the morning, she had sighed softly and curled into a small ball, her sleep unbroken.
“My lady is remarkably silent today,” he remarked casually, as he sank down into a chair. “No venomous words? I shall begin to believe you afraid of me, Cassandra, if you continue to cower so in the corner.”
She said, “I was hungry, my lord, but enduring your presence has made me quite lose my appetite.”
“I do hope you regain it for I should not like your splendid charms to waste away.”
There was a light knock on the cabin door, and at the earl’s command, Scargill entered, his arms laden with covered plates.
The valet glanced furtively at Cassie as he moved silently about the table, setting the places. Although she tried valiantly to ignore him, she felt her cheeks grow red. She wanted to dash to the mirror above the dresser to see if she somehow looked different, if her expression, her eyes perhaps, betrayed her lost innocence. She became aware that the earl was speaking to her and raised her eyes warily to his face.
“The idea was mine,” he was saying modestly. “There may be a veritable tempest above deck, but your plate will remain just where you place it.”
She looked blankly at the heavy pewter dishes.
“Loadstones,” Scargill said, lifting a dish for her inspection. “Ye see these strips here? Ye set the dish along this line and it will take a man’s heavy hand to pry it up. If ye will be seated, madonna, I’ve a tasty lamb stew for yer lunch.”
The talk of loadstones flitted from her mind, for the smell of the lamb stew made her mouth water. She did as she was bid, wondering while she sat down at the table why he had called her “madonna.” She ate her fill, all the while keeping her eyes upon her plate.
The earl regarded her from time to time, but remained silent, guessing that any attempt at conversation from him would make her forget her hunger. He regretted the storm that had kept him away from her throughout the morning. He knew she was in turmoil and he wanted to be with her, if only to give her the chance to lash out at him. He cursed the fickleness of the weather.
At the close of the silent meal, the earl tossed his napkin on the table and rose. “I am sorry to leave you again so soon, my dear, but Mr. Donnetti is laid up with influenza and Angelo is uncomfortable at the helm in such weather. My strong hand is much needed, elsewhere.”
Cassie thoughtfully sipped her wine. “I will pray that you fall overboard, my lord, though I doubt that even the fishes would be interested in your carcass.”
“Excellent. And I had feared your wits had grown dull in my absence.”
He gave her a bow, and left the cabin.
Cassie’s shoulders sagged within minutes of his leaving. The lamb stew did not settle well in her stomach and she stared resentfully around the cabin, knowing her nausea would only increase if she remained confined. She walked to the window and pressed her cheek against the glass, trying to ease her discomfort by watching the tossing sea outside. Her disgruntled stomach slowly righted itself, and she resumed her ferocious pacing. She considered how she could escape him, but nothing occurred to her that was in any way reasonable, and she turned her thoughts to other things, out of frustration. She thought about the earl and wondered if he were not very likely mad to have done what he did. She did not care about him or his motives, only that he had turned her life into a shambles. He had had the effrontery to tell her that he loved her, that he wished to wed her, and had then proceeded to force her. Although he had not overly hurt her, she felt humiliated that a man could do such a thing to her. She remembered him holding her down, caressing her body and thrusting himself into her. Her nausea returned, and she walked with slumped shoulders back to the window. This cannot be happening to me, she thought. Although she did not wish to, she thought of Edward and of their wedding. In her mind’s eye, she lovingly fingered the fine Brussels lace that layered the bodice of her wedding gown. She pictured his face, his brown eyes heavy with desire for her, and wondered what her wedding night would have been like with him. His eyes were not filled with desire now; they would be dimmed with grief. A lone tear squeezed from the corner of her eye, and, angrily, she dashed it away. She raised her fisted hand toward the quarterdeck.